


moments

by assassinactual



Series: endlessly upward [12]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-27 05:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 12,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13874490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassinactual/pseuds/assassinactual
Summary: Ficlets set in my endlessly upward verse.





	1. input lag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some or all of these have probably been posted on my tumblr at some point. I just wanted to collect everything here. They're not in any specific order and probably aren't even really set at any specific point in time unless otherwise noted, but they do all share a universe.

Sameen has passed most of her day off occupying herself with mindless things. Her boots are polished, knives sharpened, and all the spare magazines are filled.

But if she’s being honest, most of that time was really spent watching Root work. It’s a rare opportunity for her to observe Root so unguarded, and without her teasing Sameen about staring.

Hunched over a laptop, her fingers dancing fluidly across the keys. Her nose buried in a book, mouthing a word, then looking back at the screen. The minute flex of the muscles in her forearm as she writes something in her notebook. Muttering to herself or the Machine. Occasionally sitting up straighter, stretching, and maybe glancing over at Sameen. Briefly smiling at her, then diving back into her work.

With just the two of the of them alone in their apartment, Root lets herself get so into her work she barely notices the outside world.

“Hey, Root,” Sameen says suddenly. Softly, but definitely loud enough for Root to hear her.

Root doesn’t respond immediately.

Sameen thinks to call again, or go over and poke her. But whatever she wanted to ask about seems vague and distant – something about their security system?

She watches Root. The slowly progressing furrow of her brow the only indication she may have noticed. She licks her lips and leans closer to the screen, tapping an arrow key a couple times.

Finally – it could be thirty seconds or five minutes later – she blinks several times, then looks at Sameen.

“Sameen? What is it?” she asks as if Sameen has just called her.

Sameen shakes her head. “Nothing. Never mind,” she says, smiling.

Root looks at her, concerned, for a moment longer, then smiles back and returns to her work.

 

Later, Sameen winks at the webcam on Root’s laptop before she sets a coffee on the table for Root and drops into the chair beside her. It’s ten minutes and almost half the mug gone before Root turns to her and says “Thanks, sweetie.”


	2. qrk

“Because the universe is just so _big_ that even if they wanted to the chances – are you listening to me, Sameen?”

She rolls over so she’s laying facing Root. She cracks an eye open to see Root propped up on one arm, very much awake. “Yeah Root, ‘m listenin’,” she mumbles. Then she closes her eye again and buries her face in the pillow.

Root starts up again. Shaw feels like she’s floating somewhere between sleeping and waking, adrift on the sound of Root’s voice.

When she wakes in the morning, she’s well rested. She isn’t sure when she actually fell asleep herself. But she does remember Root trailing off, then laying down properly and curling up around her.

 

Root comes into their main operations room at the library to find Harold at his workstation and Shaw sitting on a table, apparently arguing with him.

“ – have to be in exactly the right place, at exactly the right time, pointing their antenna in exactly the right direction.” Root, clueing in to what their talking about, gives Shaw a big smile. Shaw nods to her and carries on. “And that’s assuming they’d even want to talk to us.” She makes her way over to Shaw and hops up on the table, bumping their hips together as she does.

Harold’s about to say something, but he frowns something on his screen. and starts typing instead.

“I love when you talk about aliens,” Root says, putting on a flirty smirk.

Shaw shrugs in response, but Root knows that she sees through it. Knows that Shaw understands how important this little thing is to Root. Not the specific subject, but that Shaw listens to and really understands what Root’s saying. That this is Shaw showing she cares and that Root’s important to her.


	3. clarification

“ – but the doors were still open so –“

“Wait,” Shaw says, pointing a fry at Root over the counter. She’s sitting on a stool, eating them from a takeout bag in front of her. Root’s on the other side, in the kitchen. She’s making sandwiches for them, and telling Shaw about one of her Machine-guided misadventures while she works. She stops at Shaw’s interjection, the knife she was gesturing wildly with freezing in mid air. “You said _‘our second date’_.”

“Yeah?” Root says, cocking her head to the side. “You know, that time I broke into your apartment and kidnapped you, then we did our first mission together?”

There’s a long silence.

“You count that as our second date?”

“Yeah.” She goes back to slicing a tomato while Shaw stares at her.

“So the first – “

“Was at the hotel when I was Veronica Sinclair and – “

“ – and you tasered me and tried to torture me.”

“That’s the one,” she agrees cheerfully.

Shaw keeps staring at her. She blinks several times, then shakes her head a little.

“Okay,” she says, nodding. “Okay.” She pops the fry she pointed with into her mouth, and Root takes that as her cue to continue.

“So I was trying to drag them back into the elevator before the sedative wore off…”


	4. fortune cookie days

One of the things Root loves about the Machine is that She never forgets. Everything Root says to her, all her likes and dislikes, every little detail. All recorded and correlated to know her and understand her. Some might think it’s creepy. But to Root, it makes her feel loved.

She hears and remembers everything Root says, even half-joking plans concocted during long, lonely stakeouts. 

 

The idea behind the plan is simple, but implementation is complicated by the fact that Shaw’s appetites can be difficult for even the Machine to predict. Still, she’s not really surprised when the Machine whispers to her one morning weeks later.

 

That evening they’re sitting side by side on the couch. Empty Chinese takeout boxes and the bag they came in are strewn across the coffee table. With a grunt, Shaw pushes herself up enough to snag one handle of the bag, then flops back down beside Root. She fumbles with the bag for a moment before extracting the fortune cookie she’s after.

Root gets so wrapped up in watching the movement of Shaw’s muscles as she chews that forgets what she was waiting for until Shaw lets out a short, muffled laugh. She’s holding the little slip of paper out for Root to see ‘ _Sameen Shaw is a fucking nerd’_ printed on it.

“This is what you and the Machine do in your spare time?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“That’s actually kind of impressive. Figuring out exactly which one I’d get.”

“Heh,” Root laughs weakly.

“ _Root._ ” The dangerous snap to her voice is doing things to Root. She allows herself a second to stare at Shaw’s face and let her thoughts run wild, then forces herself back to the topic at hand.

“Well, see, She couldn’t figure out _precisely_ which one you’d get, so she might’ve made about fifty.”

Shaw snorts. “I don’t know why I’m still surprised by this crap,” she says, then pops the other half of the fortune cookie into her mouth.

Root gets distracted by her chewing again. When she comes to her senses this time, Shaw is looking at her with a wicked smile that sends a shiver down her spine.

“Sameen?”

“You know, I’m also fucking a nerd.”


	5. standardization

“I’m worried about you, Sam,” Root says to her as they’re getting ready. Shaw’s in front of the closet getting dressed and doesn’t turn around to reply.

“Is this a specific worry, or just sort of a vague feeling of impending doom? Because if it’s the latter I get that around you all the time.”

She finishes pulling her shirt on and looks up. Suddenly, Root is in front of her, indulgently giving her a very fake smile.

Shaw sticks her tongue out at her. Root moves closer, almost into biting range. “I worry,” Root says, close enough Shaw can feel her breath on her lips, “about this.” While Shaw is almost distracted, Root reaches into her waistband and pulls out her .380.

Shaw shakes her to re-focus as Root steps back out of her space. “My backup?”

“It’s a problem.”

Shaw frowns, confused more than usual by Root. “There’s nothing wrong with it.” She makes to grab it back, but Root dodges. Before Shaw can try again, she lifts up as high as she can reach, then stands up on her tiptoes.

“What is the problem?”

“Ammo. You’re carrying guns in two different calibres.”

“So? You do too,” Shaw points out reasonably.

“But that’s me.”

Shaw growls, but Root doesn’t seem like she’s going to give up in a reasonable amount of time. “Fine.”

“I knew you’d come around!” Root sets the .380 back on the shelf, and pulls another pistol out of her pants. “There you go.”

Shaw takes the Glock 36 from Root. She quickly checks the chamber, ejects then reinserts the magazine, and tests the feel of it in her hands. “It’ll do, I guess,” she says, sticking it in her waistband. “Happy now?”

Root shakes her head. She picks a small box of .45 cartridges off the shelf and presses it into Shaw’s hands. “Now I am.”

(When Shaw comes home that night with her USP damaged and down to the last three rounds in the Glock, she’s somewhat thankful for Root and the Machine’s interference. Not that she’s going to tell them that.)


	6. thermodynamic equilibrium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a few days before [small town saturday night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7304920).

“Shaw,” Root whispers. She waits a moment; no response. “Shaw.”

“Hmmmph.”

“Shaw.” Root elbows her this time.

Suddenly, almost imperceptibly, she stiffens. Her breathing stays regular, but she’s tense, ready. Her eyes crack open minutely. When she sees Root, and no clear threat, she opens them fully but still doesn’t move.

“I’m cold.”

Shaw studies her.

Normally, this might get brushed off and Root left to fend for herself.

Although normally, they aren’t sleeping on an air mattress in a tent, under the sleeping bags Root haphazardly threw down earlier. It was warmer then, and still more warm enough for Shaw, if the way she’s sleeping half uncovered is any indication.

“Damn it.” Shaw tosses off the sleeping bags and rolls off the air mattress. “Okay, up.”

Root blinks blearily, not processing what Shaw’s saying. “Come on,” Shaw says, pulling her up and guiding her towards the limited space between the foot of the air mattress and the tent door.

She stands there with her arms wrapped around herself, shivering. In the time it takes for Root’s mind to catch up with being suddenly pushed out into the cold, Shaw straightens out their sleeping bags and zips them together.

“Fuck, Shaw.”

“Just chill, okay?” Shaw says as she stands up. “Or not, I guess.”

“Very fucking funny, Sameen.”

Shaw strips her sweater off, and her t-shirt goes along with it, leaving her naked above the waist. The action is swift and practical, entirely unselfconscious and not intended to put on a show for Root.

Root gets distracted anyway. Because Sameen is always sexy even (especially) when she’s not trying to be. And because she understands Sameen taking care of her like this is her way of showing affection.

Then Shaw’s in her space, body almost against Root’s. Before can even compose herself to say something, Shaw pokes her in the chest. “No. We’ll get all sweaty, and then you’ll be even colder.”

Root pouts. Shaw, perhaps somewhat contradictorily, ignores her and unzips Root’s hoodie.

“I told you to bring something warmer.”

She grabs onto Root’s hips under the hoodie, pulling them right together. Root sighs, appreciating the warmth for a second before Sameen shoves her back onto the bed. “Get in.”

She does so as quickly as she can, and Sameen follows zipping the joined sleeping bags fully shut.

Then she rolls over, now facing Root. Sameen wraps her arms around Root, pressing their bodies together. She rests her head on Root’s shoulder, and waits for her shivering to subside.

Several minutes pass, then she kisses Root’s collar bone where it’s exposed by her shirt. Then makes her way up Root’s neck with a series of little kisses and bites. Root tilts her head back, exposing and stretching out her neck, clearly asking for something more.

Sameen ignores her. A subtle pressure from her hand brings Root’s face back down even with Shaw’s. She lingers a moment, brushes her thumb across Root’s cheek. Then she takes a firmer hold and kisses Root.

The kiss is gentle, almost sweet. Sameen goes slowly, pulling Root in even closer to her. She lets her free hand roam down Root’s body, but otherwise doesn’t push, doesn’t escalate. She kisses Root again and again. It’s slow, lacking their usual roughness, but not the intensity.

It’s Root who finally, barely, pulls back. Shaw barely inches forward for one last peck on Root’s lips, then lets the miniscule space come between them.

They lay there, wrapped up in the warmth of the sleeping bag and each other. Lit faintly by moonlight, Sameen stares at Root and Root at Sameen.

Root breaks the moment, licking her lips and saying “So does this mean -?”

“No. I was just distracting you.”

“Oh.” Root realizes she’s no longer shivering. “Thanks, Sameen.”

Sameen smiles, and kisses her again.


	7. mission: possible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a scene from Mission Impossible 3. I think it was 3, at least.

“…and we’ve cut off your communications. That’s a neat trick, with the implant, but we do understand how to use a jammer. You won’t be getting any help this time.”

And it went on.

Shaw was a bit concerned at first, when the gang of terrorists got the drop on them and the Machine _suggested_ they surrender. That concern lessened significantly when the goons brought her and Root to a small bedroom in the abandoned apartment that is there base and left them alone with their apparent leader. They’re seated in chairs facing each other at opposite ends of the room, and restrained properly, so they weren’t totally incompetent. But this is still one of the sloppier operations Shaw has seen.

The terrorist’s boasting seems to draw to a close, and so does his pacing. He stops in front of Shaw to take her gag out. Then he strides over to Root, makes a show of cocking his gun, and presses the barrel to her temple.

“You have until the count of 10 to tell me where the ACS module is or I’ll shoot your girlfriend.”

Shaw blinks, wondering if he’s for real.

“One.”

Apparently, he is.

“Two.”

Shaw takes a moment to study Root. She seems as bored with this as Shaw is, though she perks up a bit noticing the faint smirk forming on Shaw’s face.

“Three.”

Suddenly, Shaw begins laughing hysterically.

This throws the terrorist off his extremely intimidating and very effective threats.

“What – were you listening to me? I’m going to fucking kill her.” He waves the gun around as he speaks, not really pointing at either of them.

Root catches the slip-up too. She makes a gesture indicating something like _want me to make a move?_ Shaw shakes her head a bit, and Root settles down, clearly smiling around her gag.

“Look, numbnuts, “ Shaw says. “I’m just the shooter; she’s the nerd.” Root, out of his sightline, rolls her eyes. “If you want the CPU module or whatever, you’ll have to ask her.”

He growls in frustration, but takes Root’s gag out. While Root makes a show of coughing and spitting the rough fabric out of her mouth, Shaw starts on her restraints.

“I hope you were paying attention to what I just said, cause I’ll give you the same deal. Tell me where it is or I shoot her. One.”

“You really are stupid,” Root says, before he can fully turn his attention to Shaw.

“What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“How my girlfriend just distracted you so she could get free,” Root cheerfully informs him as the rope falls from Shaw’s wrists.

He reacts reasonably fast, but not fast enough. The gun’s still pointing uselessly at the floor as Shaw bursts up out of the chair. Simultaneously, she stamps on his foot, grabs the front of the pistol in her right hand, and delivers a sharp strike to his forearm with her left hand.

Gun now in hand, Shaw smashes the butt into his throat before he even realizes what’s happening. For good measure, she grabs him by the neck with her left hand and brings his face down onto her knee before dropping him to the floor.

Casually kicking him aside, Shaw goes to help Root with her restraints.

“So you did get the ACS module before they captured us, right?” she asks Shaw as she’s massaging her wrists.

“Yeah, I gave it to Fusco. Did they actually cut you off?”

“Nope, She’s still talking to me on the low bandwidth ultrasonic channel. Grab the radio in his jacket pocket and let’s get out of here.”


	8. bear and back again

December 2014

 

“Stupid Root,” Shaw says, dropping onto the subway floor beside Bear. He looks at her, his head cocked to one side in curiosity. She starts distractedly petting him as she talks. “She’s just an idiot sometimes. Acts like her life doesn’t matter. It does matter.” She punctuates the statement with a little kick against the floor.

She pets him silently for a while, a slowly deepening frown on her face.

“And, I mean, not just because she’s the one that talks to the robot god or whatever. She’s important to people. To me.” Bear whines and flops onto her lap. “Hey. If something happens to me, you gotta look after her, okay?” He huffs. “Yeah, I know she’s weird, but she needs friends too.”

Bear wriggles in her lap. Shaw doesn’t resist, allowing him to knock her over. Once he settles again, she shifts to lay beside him on the floor.

“She just needs to be reminded that she’s a person and not a machine sometimes. That she alive and she's needs to keep being that way.” He whines again. “Oh, don’t worry. You’re still my favourite.”

 

December 2015

 

Bear gets up from his bed in the corner by the counter that separates off the kitchen are of Root and Shaw’s apartment. He trots over to the couch, stops a second to decide between Root on one end and Shaw on the other, then sits down in front of Root.

Root, glancing over at Shaw while petting him, doesn’t find the reaction she expects. Jealousy, maybe, or feigned disinterest. Instead, Shaw watches them with a little smile. Then she leans over and pats Bear on the head.

“Good job, buddy.”

Shaw’s eyes flick over to Root as she settles back down on her side. Root doesn’t explicitly ask Shaw about it. Just gives a tiny tilt to her head that Shaw could easily ignore if she chooses.

She doesn’t. “I asked him to look after you if anything happened to me,” Shaw says, still looking at Root.

Suddenly Root turns playful, almost predatory. “Oh, did you?”

Shaw hums noncommittally, not rising to Root’s bait, but not outright dismissing her either. She tries again.

“So you’re not going to be jealous that we’re friends now?”

“Oh no, I will be,” Shaw easily admits. She leans back over, this time flopping down on Root, though careful to avoid her recent gunshot wound. She scratches Bear under his chin while Root pets behind his ears. He leans into the couch, panting happily. “But I suppose he’s got enough time for both of us.”


	9. a soft place to land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple little scenes. The night Shaw comes back, and the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically fits in canon probably, but I like the idea of it in this verse.

It’s an odd, sort of sick feeling for Root, not being sure what to do for Sameen. To know that something is wrong, but not exactly what. Nor how to help her.

She can guess, and the Machine can add her thoughts, but they aren’t certain.

She wants to reassure her, somehow. She’s convinced Sameen to come back with her, to her safehouse. But it all still feels so fragile. She doesn’t know what to say. And even if she did, doesn’t think just words would mean much to Sameen.

(What Root mostly wants though, is to be able to simply savour having Sameen back. To hold her in her arms and forget about everyone and everything else until tomorrow.)

Sameen setting her pistol down on the table before taking a seat on the couch gives her an idea. A little gesture that Root can give her, that Sameen will understand. A show of her trust in Sameen, and a tangible marker of the here and now.

“Wait here, sweetie,” she says, heading towards the bedroom. “I’ve got something for you.”

When Root returns and hands her another pistol inside a low-profile holster, Sameen allows a faint look of surprise out, but doesn’t say anything.

She draws it, discarding the holster on the table. Checks the chamber, ejects and re-inserts the magazine. She lets her finger slide over the trigger guard and controls, then adjusts her grip. Clearly testing the once familiar weight of the pistol in her hand, the feel of the grip. Turning it over, taking note of the distinctive scratch on the right side of the slide, and the tiny crack at the bottom edge of the grip.

Sameen turns to Root, gives a long look as if trying to read something on her face. Then she looks back down at the gun, her gun. Her second favourite USP Compact, after the one she lost at the stock exchange. She nods slightly, her lips curve into a little smirk. “You even kept it properly clean,” she says, and Root knows this is Sameen’s way of thanking her and telling her she understands.

 

In the morning, Root wakes to an empty bed. The space beside her is cold, and the covers are pulled up tight around her. Still, there’s a definite change in the atmosphere in the safehouse. Something intangible different from yesterday, before Sameen was there. Much more tangible is the SIG left on the nightstand, that Sameen has exchanged for her reclaimed USP. 

 

Root’s first instinct, naturally, is to not let Sameen out of her sight.

The second, following immediately after, is to not overwhelm her so soon. Not only was getting her to agree to come back her safehouse a delicate thing, Root _wants_ to give her space. Wants to let Sameen come to her, come to the team, at her own pace.

It’s not all that different from in the past: the balance between not leaning too heavily on Sameen’s boundaries and the slight push she expects and wants from Root. The indication, however subtle, that Root is there when she’s ready. The same thing Sameen, in her own way, gives to Root. The stakes just might be a little higher this time.

She’s still mulling over what exactly to say when she approaches Sameen at the table. Root bends down into her line of sight, above the laptop she’s going over some of their Samaritan intel on.

“Mornin’, baby.”

Something briefly passes over Sameen’s face. Anyone else probably would’ve missed it. Attributed the short pause, the blink, the shake of her head to tiredness. Root doesn’t. She also doesn’t say anything, but files it away. To perhaps discuss with the Machine later.

That passes in a heartbeat or two, then Sameen is giving her that subtle little smile.

“I’m meeting the guys,” she says, watching Sameen carefully. “You know the spot, down by the bridge.” She leaves it there, deciding not explicitly ask her if she’s coming. The nod Sameen gives confirms she gets it. It’s in her hands now. Whether she comes or not is entirely up to her.

“So I was thinking,” Root says, straightening up then wandering over to the counter to look for coffee, “of making you dinner tonight.”

 

She can't help breaking into a smile when Sameen sneaks up on them. Root can tell from the look on her face and the way briefly touches behind behind her ear that they aren't there yet, but as Sameen joins them she finally feels like everything will be okay. Like she finally, truly, has Sameen back.


	10. sometimes caring about someone means turning off the tracking device you planted on them

Root closes the apartment door, then sags back against it. Her back straightens with a crack and she groans. Half in relief, half in annoyance at the incessant dull pain in her forehead caused by too little sleep and too much caffeine. The lights are off thankfully, and she leaves them that way, even as she fumbles a bit freeing her feet from her boots.

“Sam?” she calls tiredly.

Between the lights and the state of the security system when she arrived, she’s not surprised when the Machine answers her instead of Shaw.

_She went out._

Her phone chimes in her pocket, likely more information or footage from the Machine.

She ignores it for a moment, shuffling over to the kitchen table. She pulls out a chair and drops into it heavily. Resting her head on one hand, she pulls out her phone with the other and tosses it almost carelessly on the table.

It turns itself on, playing a video. A shot of a street Root recognizes as being near their building. Shaw, seen from the back, briefly comes into frame, then ducks into an alley she knows is a camera blindspot.

The scene shifts, a traffic camera a couple streets over. A woman on a motorcycle that’s definitely not one of theirs crosses the frame, with a targeting box around her. Instead of the usual information, she’s tagged with _Unidentified subject. Possible match: Primary Asset Sameen Shaw, 67% confidence._

Root, despite her fatigue and the pain threatening to blossom into a full-on migraine, smiles.

“Really? That low? She’ll be pleased.” This is when she notices a tiny device that’s been left on the table. She recognizes the dime-sized black object as one of her compact ultra low power trackers. “Is this the one from her boot?”

_Yes._

Another video plays on the phone, this time from the surveillance camera over the door aimed back into the apartment. Shaw drops something on the table – it’s too far away and too low resolution to make out the tracker. But the she hesitates, stands over the table for a second or two, then reaches back down. She picks something up, and sticks it into the inner pocket of her coat.

Root turns the tracker over in fingers, thinking.

The tracking devices aren’t something new or unusual for them. Root plants them on Shaw, and she knows Shaw plants them on her. It’s not something they’ve ever needed to talk about, because they know how dangerous their jobs are. It’s a practicality, and, in their own strange way, a way to show they care.

Sometimes their missions involve going places where stray radio signals could cause problems.

Except.

Shaw apparently didn’t tell anyone she was doing something more dangerous than usual, and even the Machine didn’t seem to have the full picture.

The one in Shaw’s coat hadn’t been well hidden. Root placed it there on a whim, when she happened to have an extra after a mission. The one in her boot, though, was. It would’ve taken a deliberate effort to find and remove it. Shaw had, then she replaced the one that should’ve been easier to find.

Shaw wanted her to find it.

It’s a message. Adorably subtle and opaque, but also showing the trust Shaw has in her to figure it out.

That she knows about the trackers (obviously), and that she wants some time alone.

In keeping one of the trackers, she’s also showing her trust in Root to respect her wishes. Which she will happily.

(Okay, maybe not _happily_ ; she was looking forward to cuddling with her girlfriend.)

As close as they are, there’s things she hasn’t shared with Shaw. And she’s sure Shaw has things she hasn’t shared with Root. It’s not hiding or dishonesty – both of them are more open with each other than they’ve been with anyone else. But they’re complex people with complex histories, and there’s a lot of things they might not need or want to talk about.

So. If Shaw wants space, Root will respect that.

“Can you pull a still from that last one and enhance it? She’s cute.”

The Machine doesn’t answer right away, which Root takes as an agreement. In the meantime, she manages to stand up and drag herself over to the couch. Without the distraction of Shaw’s little puzzle, the pain is coming back to the forefront. She flops down, massaging her forehead and eyes with the heels of her palms until she sees stars.

_Do you want me to locate her?_

She smiles a little at the Machine’s thoughtfulness, and Her lack of a concept of privacy. “No babe, we talked about this. Boundaries.”

Even without Her saying anything, or giving any sort of response, Root can almost _feel_ Her hesitating, fretting over how to help her. Sweet, but unnecessary. “It’s alright. I just need some rest, and she’ll be back later.”

 

She awakes with a start. Laying on the couch, lazily chatting with the Machine on and off to try to distract herself, had at some point transitioned into strange, vivid dreams that are now slipping away like wisps of smoke. She’s left with a strange sensation of almost no time passing, and the realization that her headache is gone.

She closes her eyes and counts to ten.

Opens them again, and the pain is still gone, and she feels surprisingly awake and well rested. She realizes from the angle of the sunlight that several hours must have actually passed, but her brain doesn’t want to integrate this yet. She moves her attention instead to how the pillow under her head feels warm and solid, and the fact that there’s a hand resting on her neck and fingers caressing her jaw just below her implant scar.

“Sameen?” Root says, realizing she is in fact laying with her head in her girlfriend’s lap.

“Hey,” Sameen says, looking down at her with an almost-smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “If I look at the footage from the camera will I see you stumbling in here half dead?”

“Depends how you define half dead,” Root says, going for playful but not quite getting there. Sameen frowns, and Root knows she’s actually going to check the footage now. “I’m fine, sweetie, really. Just needed a nap. And you.”

Sameen rolls her eyes.

Root’s phone chimes then. Root feels around for it but comes up empty, until Sameen pulls it out of the pocket of her hoodie and hands it to her. Turning it on, she finds the photo she asked the Machine to enhance for her.

“Look, babe, you’re adorable,” Root says, angling the phone so Sameen can see it. Sameen doesn’t respond, so Root glances over at her. She looks more tense, maybe a little apprehensive. It takes her a second to get there, but she realizes Sameen is taking it as Root prompting her to talk about the trackers, or whatever she was doing today, maybe expecting Root to outright ask her.

Root lets the phone drop onto her chest, and smiles at Sameen. “Don’t you have a hockey game later?”

Sameen relaxes, minutely. It’s something probably only Root would see. It’s tiny, but significant for Sameen. Root treasures it, like everything Sameen gives her.

“I could say I can’t make it,” Sameen offers. It’s sweet and not exactly usual for her and Root is almost tempted to take her up on it.

“Nah, I wanna watch you beat some people up.”

“You understand how hockey works, right?”


	11. sparks

Root pushes open the heavy steel door leading onto the roof of their building, still not sure why the Machine is leading her up here. The tone from the Machine turns her left, and there’s Sameen. Bundled up in her puffy coat, with a stack of boxes beside her and a flaming steel trash can at her feet.

“Having fun?”

“I was getting rid of the stuff from that undercover op last month, then I found a bunch of other old crap,” Shaw says, shoving some more papers into the fire.

Root snags one of the pages and examines it. “Expense reports from an interior design consultant. Fascinating top secret documents that need to be securely destroyed, I’m sure.” She dips the corner into the flames, watching the paper blacken, then glow at the edge. Then burst into a bright, dancing flame that eats away the page until its almost licking at her gloved fingers.

“Pyro,” Shaw says fondly as Root drops the last scrap of the corner into the trash can and watches it curl into a black crisp.

She turns to Shaw, seeing her faint amused smile, and grins wildly. “Want to make smores?”

Shaw rolls her eyes and feeds more papers into the fire. Root stares at the flames as flare up past the rim the of the can.

“Well?” Shaw says, pulling her attention back. “Are just gonna leave me hanging?”

“I’d never do that to you Sameen,” Root says in a mock offended tone. She takes the marshmallow roasting sticks the Machine had her buy before out of her bag and hands them to Sameen.

 

“What?” Sameen asks while Root is staring at her. Which, she’s been doing for a while. At first, because of the way Sameen was delicately holding the smores so as not to get too much melted marshmallow on her fingers while she shoved them into her mouth. This was perfectly normal; Sameen expected this.

Root continuing to stare at Sameen for several minutes after isn’t exactly _abnormal_ , but usually by this point she’ll have started flirting or something.

“You’ve just got a little chocolate right, uh – ” She darts forward to lick the spot of chocolate at the side of Sameen’s mouth. Since she’s already there, she lets herself give her one quick peck on the lips. The another. And one more. Then she’s really kissing Sameen, and there’s tongue, and Sameen is starting to get into it a little too. She nips at Root’s lip, Root bites back harder. She reaches up with her left hand, snaking it through Sameen’s hair and grabbing on. Her right hand tries to follow, but Sameen grabs her wrist and stops her cold. Jerked out of her makeout-trance, she gives Sameen one last kiss, then pulls back. “ – there.”

“If you get that in my hair, you’re washing it out.”

“Don’t think inviting me to shower with you is much of a deterrent, babe,” Root says with a seductive smirk.

“Who said anything fun would happen?” Shaw says, arching her eyebrow and not letting any of it get to her. Okay, it is getting to her – Root can read her, knows her tells, knows what works on her – but Shaw can multitask. Actually, Root probably needs to rethink this approach; she’s seducing herself more than her girlfriend.

With her hand still locked around Root’s wrist Shaw guides Root’s hand back toward her face. “Although,” she starts slowly, eyeing Root’s fingers, “I could be persuaded to help you clean up, if you’re good.” With the she pops one of Root’s sticky, marshmallow covered fingers in her mouth. She sucks on it briefly, then lets it go. She keeps eye contact with through this, steady and intense. But also alight with mischief and the reflection of the dancing flames.

This is really backfiring in the best way possible.


	12. constellation markings; across your body, drawings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an outtake from the wedding fic that I expanded a bit. title: wasted daylight by stars.

Sameen has been unable to keep her eyes off Root ever since they got dressed in the hotel room.

(Not that this is an unusual state of affairs. But Root looks especially good tonight, and there was little else to distract her in the limo to and from the wedding chapel.)

The dress the Machine chose (or, probably, had made specifically) for Root is really more _elegant_ than _hot_. Clearly chosen to conceal some of her more obvious scars, it’s not revealing. It fits her well, though, hugging close around her torso, the long skirt flowing and rippling as she walks, a long skinny leg occasionally peeking out of a slit. It does leave her shoulders bare, a small but oddly tantalizing change from her usual style of dress.

After staring at Root in it all night, she almost wants to just rip it off her and get right to the good stuff. Almost.

Root is sitting on the edge of the bed, near the end. Sameen sits cross-legged, then scoots over right behind Root.

First, she takes the pins out of Root’s hair, carefully dropping them on the floor. As Root’s long, wavy hair begins falling down her back, Sameen combs through it with her fingers to straighten it a little. Sometimes tugging a little more sharply than she needs to, sometimes taking a break to massage Root’s scalp a little. She tries to mostly ignore the happy little noises Root lets out and focus on her task.

When she’s done, she gathers Root’s hair and sweeps it forward over her left shoulder.

Taking hold of Root’s bare shoulders – pausing briefly to give them a little squeeze – Sameen leans in and up. She cranes her neck, planting a light kiss over the scar behind Root’s ear. A couple more along her hairline, then one squarely on the back of her neck.

Sameen pulls back a little, giving herself room to take hold of the zipper of Root’s dress. She slowly slides it down, all the way to her waist. She follows with her other hand, tracing a line down the length of Root’s spine and pushing the two side of the dress apart.

Root hums low in her throat as she does this, and her head rolls back.

Sameen kisses the spot on her neck again, then sets to getting the dress off her. With a little help from Root, she slides her arms out then pushes the dress down. Leaving Root entirely exposed above the waist, once Sameen takes off her bra as well.

Her hands go back to Root’s shoulders, then sliding up, towards her neck. One lingers there, tantalizingly close, the other sliding down. Over Root’s shoulderblade, down the side of her ribs, coming to a rest at her hip. The lightest of touches, but Root’s head twists fractionally towards her and her breath quickens.

She brings the hand on Root’s hip back up, pausing to trace along a knotted ridge of the exit wound scar between Root’s spine and her left shoulder.

The reaction is subtle, but distinct. A slight catch in her breath, and a faint tensing of the muscles underneath Sameen’s hands.

This isn’t new ground for them at all; Sameen is intimately familiar with Root’s body, and all her scars. Just as Root is with hers. But the reaction _is_ new.

She taps it twice, then circles her finger around it: a question, if Root wishes to answer.

“Sorry.”

At the unnecessary apology, Sameen curls up her finger that’s resting on the scar, and jabs her knuckle into a bony spot nearby. Root lets out a little grunt, then continues.

“It’s just, with the dress – not that She meant anything by it. She probably based it my preferences in the past,” Root says, predicting where Sameen’s thoughts might go before she herself even gets there. “It just – I guess made me more conscious of it. Of how my scars look.” Her head dips down slightly, and she finishes more softly: “Of what you might think of them.”

“They’re hot,” Sameen says automatically. Because, it’s true.

This isn’t something she’s ever really considered, for Root, before. For herself, she knows Root has always appreciated her scars. Even if Samaritan tried to grab onto and play up the little doubt lingering in the back of her mind. But Root’s have never come up.

“This one,” Sameen says, tapping the scar on Root’s back, “and this one,” she adds, reaching up to stroke the one behind her ear, the familiar gesture relaxing her a bit, “I don’t like what they represent. Times that I should’ve protected you and failed.”

As she speaks, Sameen leans closer to Root, resting her chin on her left shoulder and speaking almost right into her ear. “But all of them show how strong you are. You survived all these things that tried to kill you and kept going. And this one especially.” She taps behind Root’s ear again. “Control wanted to take something from you, but you beat her, and now it connects you to Her.”

Root draws a few noticeably shaky breaths. Sameen thinks Root is probably grateful to be facing away from her, though she wouldn’t mind. However, she pretends not to notice, letting Root have this moment for herself.

Sameen pulls back again. She bends down and kisses the scar that started this, the exit wound from the last time she almost died. Then she kisses an older one farther out on her shoulder, that Sameen herself caused.

She spots a twisted scar from a knife wound below that, but the angle is awkward. She reaches down and strokes it with her finger instead, then keeps sliding her hand down Root’s back.

Their little movements have caused the dress to settle down, exposing a bit of Root’s underwear. Sameen hooks her thumb in the waistband and snaps it, the pats Root on her hip.

“C’mon, get up. I want to get you out of the rest of this.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”


	13. explaining the infinite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a conversation about shapes. set early on, sometime in recalibration probably, shortly after they beat samaritan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I referenced an arrow symbolizing shaw in the wedding fic, but never actually introduced it in this verse. the spot where it would've been was written before return 0 aired, and the canon conversation with the machine doesn't really work in this timeline. it may be slightly redundant since I did write a conversation that sort of parallels this, but I wanted to get this in explicitly so whatever.

Shaw’s tending to Root’s shoulder wound when she unexpectedly reaches up and taps Shaw on the nose with one of her long fingers.

It’s so unexpected and without any sort of preamble that Shaw at first doesn’t react beyond following the finger’s trajectory until her eyes almost cross.

“I’ve figured it out,” Root says, tapping Shaw’s nose twice more before Shaw grabs her wrist. She carefully but forcefully guides Root’s hand back down to her side. She pushes Root’s palm down flat on the countertop and taps it firmly. _Stay_.

Root sighs, but settles back down into her previous position and stills. She’s perched on the bathroom counter with her shirt off, angled half away from Shaw to let the light fall on her wound.

“Figured out what?” Shaw asks blandly as she discards the old bandage.

“Your shape.” Shaw doesn’t answer for a moment or two, so Root continues, “You know, how we talked – “

“I remember,” Shaw says, then mutters, “Unfortunately.”

Root makes a face at her, which she ignores. The silence draws out as Shaw examines the wound. As she’s moving to look at the exit wound on Root’s back, she pauses briefly, making eye contact and raising an eyebrow.

Root turns her head to watch Shaw work in the mirror, but is careful not to jostle her shoulder anymore.

“I talked about it with Her, actually. And we agreed. You would be a straight line. An arrow.”

“I’m an arrow?” Shaw asks skeptically.

“Yeah.” She gets a sort of far-off look as she speaks. It’s not the one she gets when the Machine is talking to her. This, Shaw knows, is Root expressing her own essentially unfiltered thoughts. “You have your own direction. One that's _yours_ , not determined by anyone else. You just go on forever, never wavering or changing or turning from your path.”

Shaw scoffs. “I’ve done a lot of changing and turning in my life.”

“Maybe it was just the world bending around you,” Root says with a little smile. She waits until Shaw is done with the wound on her back, and is back in front of her. She pokes Shaw in the chest, and continues. “I mean _you_ , Sameen. Not what’s happened to you or what you’ve done. The person you are now, is the person you’ve always been.”

Shaw, who was getting supplies ready to apply a fresh bandage, pauses. “How do you know that?”

“Like I said, I’ve talked about this with Her. She finds you… fascinating.”

“I wonder where She got that from,” Shaw says, rolling her eyes.

“Not from me.” Shaw doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even have to look at Root to express her disbelief. “Really! It’s part of why she chose you in the first place.”

“She chose me?”

“What, did you think it was an accident that you crossed paths with John and Harold? She didn’t just give them your number to save your life. John is Harold’s primary asset; you’re Hers.” She pauses, lets Shaw process this. When she nods, Root continues. “This, what makes you unique, it’s why She chose you. And it’s what I – admire about you. I’ve always thought it’s beautiful.”

Root lets silence fall between them.

Shaw bites her lip, very carefully avoiding eye contact with Root. As she goes back behind Root to apply a fresh bandage, she briefly catches Root watching her, a soft little smile on her face.

When Shaw is nearly finished, Root speaks up again. “What do you think my shape would be?”

“It’s not something I’ve really thought of,” Shaw replies almost absentmindedly as she gather’s supplies to dress the wound on Root’s front.

“So I’m worth spending time thinking about?” Shaw chooses this moment to dab disinfectant on Root’s wound. “Ow!”

Shaw carries on her work, again in the usual easy silence between them.

“You know, actually I have thought about it,” Shaw says, focusing maybe a little more than she really needs to on applying tape. “You wouldn’t be a fixed shape. You’d always be changing into whatever suits you at the moment. Fluid, chaotic.” She says the last word with a slight smirk, looking directly at Root. “But always unmistakably you.”

“That’s so sweet, Sam.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t,” Root says with a smile. “You done?” she asks, indicating her shoulder. Shaw nods. “Well, if you’re not gonna kiss it better…”

She gives Shaw a moment to respond. When she doesn’t, Root pulls her closer by the front of her shirt. Shaw lets her, and bends down to Root’s level, allowing Root to kiss her softly.


	14. hands-on training

Part of what draws Shaw to Root is her skills.

As a thief, a con artist, her ability to slip in and out the ridiculous identities the Machine throws at her.

There’s more of course, so much more. Like the fact that she’s the world’s number one hacker – and Shaw can appreciate that, in a way – it’s not something that really sparks attraction for her. What does it for Shaw is the things that she’s also skilled at. Things Shaw knows enough about to truly appreciate how good Root is. Like the aforementioned criminal skills.

Like her skill with a gun.

She’s not quite up to Shaw’s technical proficiency, probably. But better than just about everyone else she’s met. Shaw would even rate Root above John, just for her sense of style.

(Good shooting: hot. Good driving: also hot. Both, at the same time? That’s like, hot squared. Cubed, even, if you consider Root’s innate hotness.)

The thing is – and in part, this makes it even more impressive – is that most of Root’s prowess with a gun (or two) is just innate ability. She’s obviously had some teaching, but not as far as Shaw knows, any real formal training like herself.

And it shows at times.

She can be – haphazard. Chaotic. Almost sloppy, and careless, even, sometimes. Part of it’s just Root’s nature. And it does work for her, for the most part. But something that’s always bothered Shaw is Root’s draw.

She’s fast, yes. It gets the job done most of the time. But it is kind of sloppy, in Shaw’s eye. And sometimes she worries that one day it won’t be quite fast enough. The business they’re in, you can’t afford to just be good.

“I’ve been thinking,” Shaw says one evening, walking into the kitchen where Root is finishing cleaning up. She has one hand behind her back, concealing what she’s holding, and Root immediately notices that something is up. She gives Shaw an inquisitive look, her pupils dilating a little, but waiting for her to go on. “I want to teach you something.”

Shaw pulls her hand out, revealing a belt with an empty thigh holster hanging of it.

On seeing the straps, Root’s eyes briefly widen, her mind obviously going other places. Then she realizes what it is and tilts her head, studying it.

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Your draw. It could be faster. Cleaner.”

“Oh?” There’s something that could almost be mild offence, and the hint of the competitiveness that tends to come out between them in her voice. Shaw knows she’ll have to play on the latter if she needs to convince Root to do this, but she has another trick up her sleeve.

Shaw lets Root’s question hang. “Um, Sam?”

“I’m just waiting for your girlfriend to tell you I’m right.”

Root opens her mouth to protest, but is cut off, obviously listening to the Machine. After a moment, she purses her lips. “Fine.” Then she spreads her arms out invitingly. “Strap me up, babe.”

“Keep your pants on,” Shaw says, slinging the belt over her shoulder. She dodges around Root to grab her Smith and Wesson M&P off the counter. Quickly, she ejects the mag, clears the chamber, and sticks it in the back of her pants.

She guides Root over to the other side of the kitchen, and points her in direction of the narrow full-length mirror hung near the apartment door.

From behind Root, she buckles the belt around her waist.

Then she moves in front of Root, give her a quick grin, and drops to her knees.

Shaw ignores Root’s sudden, sharp intake of breath as she reaches up between her legs to buckle the holster into place. She doesn’t look up at Root until she’s cinching the strap into place, maybe a little tighter than it needs to be.

“Like being down there, darlin’?” Shaw scrunches up her face at her because damn well knows the answer to that. ( _Yes._ ) “It’s okay, your secret’s safe with me.”

Looking dawn at her with that annoyingly smug and annoyingly hot smile, Root cups one hand under her chin. Tilting her head up, exposing her throat a little more, and not letting Shaw look away from her. Shaw lets herself be distracted for a moment, leaning in to the touch.

Root brings her other hand into play, at first just tucking back a few loose strands of Shaw’s hair. This turns into combing them through Shaw’s hair: sometimes the soft pressure of the pads of her fingers; sometimes the sharper press of her short nails into Shaw’s scalp. It’s nice, really.

Shaw lets it go on until twice in a row, Root’s pinky bumps into her ear. By design, it seems accidental. Shaw knows it’s not. Root knows all her weak spots, and Shaw knows where this is going.

“Knock it off.”

Root huffs and pouts and drops her hand.

Shaw grabs her by the wrist, presses a quick kiss to the back of her hand. “Later, okay? I want to actually do this.”

She stands, making a show of hauling herself u by Root’s belt, then goes back behind her.

“Okay, proper stance, like you want to shoot your reflection.”

Root settles in; body angled half toward the mirror, feet braced wide, back straight.

Shaw comes up behind her. She plants her feet just outside and behind Root’s. Pulling slightly at her hips, Shaw draws herself up flush against Root’s back, stretching up enough to look over her left shoulder.

“So it’s that kind of lesson, huh?”

“Shut it,” Shaw snaps back. She nips at Root’s neck quickly to placate her, then gets back to the task at hand. She pulls the M&P out of her pants and drops it into the holster. “Grip it, but don’t draw. I’m gonna move you.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Shaw shakes her head, knowing Root can feel the movement. Also knowing that Root is not going to be deterred, she decides to get her back a little.

Rather than simply grabbing Root’s wrist, she makes feather-light contact with her fingers just below her elbow. Then slowly wrapping her fingers around Root’s forearm as she slides her hand down. Beneath her touch, Root’s muscles, already tensed from gripping her gun, tense up a little more.

“You’re sending me mixed signals here Sameen,” she says as Shaw settles her grip around Root’s wrist.

“You’re smart; figure it out.”

Root reacts by grinding her ass into Shaw; Shaw pushes right back. To try to distract her from any ideas she might be getting, Shaw slaps her left palm lightly against Root’s thigh. “Okay, I’m gonna be your left hand. Just grab it sorta like I’m doing on the right. Let me move you; I just want you to feel, it okay?”

“Sexy,” Root replies, following Shaw’s instruction.

Shaw takes a breath, lining herself up on the mirror and trying not to think too much about Root. It’ll be harder to aim properly from her left side like this, but it’s really more about Root getting a feel for the action.

“Pay attention,” Shaw reminds her. “When you draw,” she says, pulling Root’s hand, and the gun in it straight upwards along her side, nearly to the level of her armpit, “don’t just go waving your arms around wildly. It should be deliberate.”

Keeping Roots upper arm in position, she rotates her forearm to bring the pistol up horizontal, just in front of her shoulder. “Think geometry. How big of an arc you’re sweeping out. Bring it up first, then punch out.”

“I love when you talk dirty to me,” Root whispers almost directly into her ear. A little shiver runs down Shaw’s spine, and pressed together as they are, she’s sure Root feels it.

Shaw carries on though. Extending Root’s right arm out, while bringing up her own left arm to meet it. She wraps her hand over Root’s fingers on the gun’s grip as she punches it out to full extension.

“See how it ends up right where you want it, and you don’t have to waste time trying to correct your aim?”

“I don’t know, looks a little low to me.”

Shaw groans. She relaxes her arms, lowering the gun. “I’ll do it a couple more times, then you can practice.”

Though she’s a professional, and a quick learner, Root has enough _problems_ on her first couple tries that she needs more _help_ from Shaw.

Shaw, who predicted this would happen, is still in place up against Root’s back.

She puts up a brief show of reluctance, then grasps Root’s wrists. Light enough to allow her free movement, but firm enough to fell all her movements.

When Root draws, she’s predictably already moving smoothly and confidently. Not quite as clean and crisp as Shaw, but that takes time.

Root repeats several times. After the first couple, Shaw allows her focus to drift a little. From Root’s technique to the feel of he muscles moving. The cycle of tensing and relaxing, the push-pull as she brings it up to firing position that’s at once familiar and foreign. The way the movement ripples down her shoulders and back, pressed up against Shaw’s front.

(Root might notice Shaw’s lack of attention, might rock back into her a bit more, and exaggerate her movements slightly for her benefit. And Shaw might act like she doesn’t notice and isn’t affect, but they both know the truth.)

They keep at it a while longer, until Root has the motion basically down. It’s a far as she’ll get in one evening, and both of them are about at their limit of keeping their attention on other things while pressed up against each other.

“That’s enough for now,” Shaw says. “We can pick this up tomorrow.”

She pulls away from Root, somewhat reluctantly. Root, at the same time, takes a few steps forward. Shaw turns to a get a glass of water, while Root wanders over to the other side of the kitchen as she unbuckles the belt and holster.

The space is deliberate. It’s not awkwardness, just giving each other a little breathing room after the prolonged and rather intimate contact. Shaw is sipping her water when Root comes up behind her and takes the glass out of her hand.

“Ugh,” she groans, watching Root take a long drink from it. Shaw reaches up to the cupboard, getting another glass for herself and filling it.

Root tries, but does a bad job at concealing her smile and laughter. She quickly gives up. She then bumps her hip into Shaw’s before she pulls away to hop up on the counter.

“Where did you learn that anyway?” Root asks idly.

Shaw immediately tenses.

“You know, uh, Marines. ISA.” She’s good at hiding things. Good at controlling her reactions.

“Hmm,” Root says. The problem is, Root is better at reading her.

Shaw takes a long drink, emptying her glass. She puts it in the sink, avoiding looking at Root. When she turns around, Root’s waiting for her, wide eyes boring right into Shaw’s.

Shaw groans quietly.

“This is top secret information,” she says, poking Root in the chest. “You can’t tell anyone ever. That goes for you too,” she says, pointing towards Root’s right ear.

_I’ll make sure she doesn’t tell anyone._

Shaw grunts, and nods. “ _You_ , I trust.”

“ _Sameen_ ,” Root whines.

“When I was six,” Shaw mutters, looking squarely at Root’s shoulder, “I was a cowboy for Halloween. When I got the costume, I spent a whole afternoon in front of the mirror, practicing drawing my little cap gun.”

Root controls herself for a good second or two before her face splits into a wide grin. “Baby, that so cute.”

“I’m not fucking cute,” Shaw replies vehemently.

“Okay, sweetie,” Root says, patting her on the head, “okay.”


	15. analog interface’s hair is classified as Relevant to National Security

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this a while ago bc of Amy's hair in a movie and forgot to post it.

Shaw notices, of course.

The moment she lays eyes on Root as she walks in the door. Her gaze lingers a little longer than usual, clearly not just checking her out or checking for new injuries.

But she doesn’t ask. She quirks her eyebrow, tilts her head a bit, giving Root an opening. But when Root doesn’t say anything, she lets it go.

The rest of the evening passes as usual for them. They make dinner, eat, and clean up together. Comfortable silence woven together with conversation – about the numbers Shaw has saved in the past few days, the Machine’s latest antics, how she’s annoyed John, and what Root was doing on her mission on the other side of the country.

After, Shaw wanders off to the second bedroom to – do something. Root doesn’t ask, but sees her hauling a crate – she thinks containing spare firearms – into the closet as she passes. Root, meanwhile, drags her suitcase to their bedroom and begins half-heartedly unpacking. This doesn’t last long. She bores quickly, leaving her suitcase and a couple dirty shirts she managed to take out of it on the bed. She’s decided that cuddling with her wife is more important that this, or whatever spring cleaning Shaw seems to be doing.

Back in the second bedroom, she finds Shaw sitting on the bed, sorting through ammunition in a box sitting at her feet. When Root enters, she nods at her without looking up. Shaw pays her no more attention until Root flops down on the bed and lays her head in her lap.

Shaw looks at her briefly before dropping a small box of cartridges back into the box at her feet, and kicking that away. Without moving Root too much, she pulls her legs up onto the bed and crosses them, and shifts them both into a slightly more comfortable position.

“Whatcha doin’ in here?” Root asks lazily.

“Gen’s coming on Saturday. Her school’s taking a long weekend or something. I figured she could use an actual place to sleep and not be crowded by all our stuff.”

“How thoughtful.”

Shaw only grunts in response.

While Root idly scans the room to see what progress Shaw has made, Shaw starts playing with her hair. Pushing it back from where it fell wildly half across her face. Collecting the mess of stray strands, then combing through it with her fingers. As she does, she straightens it a little, pulling it out to its full length. Now falling to just a little past Root’s shoulders, after having it cut while she was away.

“You like it?”

“Pssht, ‘course I do,” Shaw replies quickly. She keeps playing Root’s hair as she asks, “Do you?”

Root makes a noncommittal sort of sound. “Think I’ll let it grow back out. It’s not short enough that it’s really any easier to deal with, and I like it long.”

“Why’d you cut it?”

“The cover we put together didn’t get me into to where I needed to be, so I had to improvise.”

“So you had to cut three inches off your hair?” Shaw asks, skeptical.

“It’s more than three inches. And I had to become someone specific. To be honest, She didn’t really like the idea. But it worked!” Root says it brightly, but winces as she does. “Mostly.”

“Computer girlfriend has a thing for your long swishy hair?”

“She just didn’t think my plan would work well, okay.”

“Mmmm, I’m sure She was just worried about the mission,” Shaw says as blandly as she possibly can.

“Shut up,” Root mutters, feebly shoving Shaw to no real effect.

Shaw lets out a low chuckle, but doesn’t say any more.

(Later, maybe, she’ll have yet another talk with both of them about the kind of risks they take, and when they should call for backup. But for now, she’s satisfied that Root hasn’t gotten herself shot or stabbed again.)

They sit there in silence for a while longer, until Shaw suddenly stops playing with her hair and taps Root on the shoulder. “You gonna help me with this, or what?”

“Tired,” Root protests. “I can help by sitting here and looking pretty. Think of it as… motivation.”

Shaw lets out an annoyed huff, and shakes her head, but smiles at Root. “At least you’re not getting in the way.”


	16. two perfect circles entwined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thoughts about their rings, and gen makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from sometime around midnight by airborne toxic event, bc I didn't have one and it came on while I was writing.

As Shaw waits at the counter of the café, she idly spins her wedding ring around her finger.

Without really meaning to, she’s gotten into the habit of wearing the gold band regularly.

(She wears the engagement ring with the gaudy fake diamond that Root gave her sometimes too. Not as often – it tends to get in the way and is entirely unsubtle. But she does enjoy the look on Root’s face whenever she does.)

That first day, she deliberately chose to wear it, to see how long it would take John and Harold to catch on.

Though conscious of its presence at first, it faded into the background quickly. She forgot to remove when she crashed into bed after their flight home. She didn’t notice its presence again until it pressed into her right hand as she gripped her gun while working a number early the next morning.

Since then, she’s worn it almost every day, except when work necessitates taking it off. She’s found she likes the little physical reminder of Root.

Shaw spins the ring again, watching the barista make one of the drinks she ordered. She presses the ring into her finger with her thumb. Feeling her skin push into the engraving inside – her arrow crossed by Root’s slash.

This is another habit she’s acquired unintentionally.

It comforts her, sort of. Not _grounding_ her – almost the opposite, really – but reminding her which direction she's pointed in. It’s a tangible connection to Root and her distinctive chaos when the woman herself isn’t there. A reminder of the words, so unmistakably hers, that Root used to reassure her this was  _real._

She spins the ring once more. The pressure skews it, faintly dragging the broader engraving of the fletching and head against her skin.

Then the barista set her drinks on the counter. She nods, not really paying them any attention, as she grabs one cup with each had, then hooking a pinky through the handle on her box of donuts.

She weaves her way through the small crowded space over to a table by the window. She drops the box of donuts on the table, then passes one of the cups to a waiting Gen.

“Here, I got your gross almond milk abomination.”

“Thanks,” Gen says, rolling her eyes.

Shaw watches Gen out of the corner of her eye as she sits down and habitually scans the café. Gen takes a sip of her coffee right away, seemingly unaffected by the temperature. She looks tired, which Shaw didn’t notice when they met at the bus station or on the quick walk over.

“Late night?” Shaw asks, blowing on her own coffee.

“I was working on a, um, project.”

“This a fun project?”

Gen sips her coffee again. “Maybe. If it pays off.”

Shaw hums. “Well, call me if you need backup.” She tries her coffee – still too hot – before popping open the box of donuts and grabbing one.

“What’s that?” Gen blurts out, eyes fixed on Shaw’s left hand.

Through a mouthful of donut, Shaw says “If we’ing hing.” At Gen’s blank look, Shaw rolls her eyes. She hastily chews and swallows, then repeats. “It’s a wedding ring. Me and Root got hitched.”

“You what?” Gen asks incredulously.

“Why are y’all like this? Yeah, she’s annoying, but I like her, okay? And she’s like almost as obsessed with me as she is with the Machine for some reason. Neither of us is going anywhere, so there’s no point in pretending it’s just like casual or whatever.” Shaw pauses, and notices Gen is staring at her. “What?”

“Y’all?”

Gen knows her well enough to know this _not_ something Shaw typically says. She’s also been around Root enough to know it is something _she_ says.

“Fucking hell,” Shaw says softly.

Gen lets it go, though Shaw knows it won’t be forgotten. “So when did it happen?”

“After that mission in Vegas last month.”

“In _Vegas_?”

“It wasn’t like that. And you shouldn’t even know about stuff like that.” Gen makes a dismissive gesture. “Okay, so we didn’t exactly plan it beforehand. But I did propose to her like back in February.”

“ _You_ proposed? Are you okay? You’re not like, dying or something, are you?”

“No more than usual,” Shaw quips. “Anyway, getting married when you’re about to die is so lame. Like where’s the commitment? Doesn’t make any sense.” Shaw stops to quickly finish the other half of her donut. Then she adds “Oh, we’re having another one sometime. You’re invited.”

“ _Another_ wedding? Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

Sometimes, even now, the Machine will be evasive and mysterious about Her intentions.

Like being adamant about placing Root at _this_ specific street corner, but then reverting back to simply feeding her information on everyone and everything in sight. Not that Root minds. It’s sort of a game between them. And it’s not like there’s really anywhere else she needs to be.

So she waits, and she watches. Trying to pick out why the Machine has directed her here before She needs to issue Root further instructions. It’s not an especially busy corner though, and none of the people she’s seen seem to be especially interesting. She considers texting Shaw, but settles for just spinning her wedding ring on her finger.

It’s not a habit of hers, but one of Shaw’s.

What’s second nature to her is slipping into another skin; to watch and listen and understand. To mimic the distinctive little gestures and tells that set people apart. She’s turned this ability onto Sameen; to understand her even more, and as well to feel closer to her when she’s absent.

Though as Root drags the pattern of dots and dashes inside her ring over her skin, she thinks she understands it.

She’s never been one to get attached to or sentimental about her things. She knows Shaw isn’t either. But it’s nice to have a solid, real reminder of her right there on her hand.

To feel the words Shaw said to her pressed into her skin. Encoded like they were when the Machine helped her send them back to Shaw. A reminder that she has Shaw, that Shaw will always listen to her, and that Shaw will do everything she can to come back to her.

If Shaw’s ring means something similar to her, Root thinks, she understands where this habit comes from.

Then: the chatter from the Machine drops off. An attention tone, followed by a series of tones turning her to the left. There’s nothing of interest there; a woman in a suit coming out of a dry cleaner’s and someone trying to parallel park an unremarkable sedan. She opens her mouth to ask what’s going on when a hand grabs her waist from behind.

Before she can even think of moving, a body is pressed up against her back and a very familiar voice is speaking lowly in her left ear.

“It’s still fun being able to do that.”

Root relaxes into Shaw’s hold. It doesn’t last long. Shaw pulls back quickly, though not too far out of Root’s space.

“Are you scheming with Her?”

“Nope. Haven’t talked to Her all day. Guess your girlfriend just likes me better.”

Root sticks her tongue out at Shaw. She looks around, then starts to ask “Where’s – ” when Gen, out of breath, runs up behind Shaw.

“Jeez, Shaw. Eager to get back to your wife much?”

Root, grinning, wraps an arm around Shaw and squeezes her close. Shaw groans, but goes with it, turning in to Root’s side and tucking her head against her shoulder. “She just can’t get enough of me.”


	17. there's a snake in my boot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not being allowed to kill Control, Shaw finds another way to get revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is working on the assumption that ctrl lived and at some point she broke out or people loyal to her got her away from samaritan or something and she ended up back in her old job after everything settled down.

Shaw gets in late.

The Machine doesn’t alert Root, already in bed, to her presence. And Shaw herself takes care to be quiet. The first Root notices of her is dim light from the hall falling across the bed as she briefly opens the bedroom door and slips inside.

“Hey,” Shaw greets her softly when she notices Root stirring. She stands there for a moment. Lit be the shaft of light from the gap in the gap in the curtains, Root sees the little smile on Shaw’s face as she watches her. Then she turns away, heading over to the dresser. “You didn’t wait for me, did you?”

“No,” Root replies, not entirely lying.

Even in the dark, with her back to Root, and seemingly focused more on divesting herself of all her weapons, Shaw notices. “I’m sure,” she says blandly. “She told you I was safe, right?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t worried.” There’s silence, broken only by the sounds of Shaw’s wallet dropping onto the dresser, then her ring clattering in the dish beside Root’s. “Too much.”

“Sorry I couldn’t call,” Shaw says softly as she undoes her belt and slides it out of the loops. “I was… in a bit of a tricky spot and had to stay dark.”

Root briefly laments the lack of light as she sees Shaw’s outline strip off her shirt as she crosses to their walk-in closet. While Shaw digs around inside, Root asks “Anything fun?”

“If you remember to ask me in the morning, I might tell you,” Shaw says playfully as she emerges, before turning around and disappearing into the en-suite bathroom.

Root wants to wait for her to come to bed, but her own long day catches up with her. She falls asleep easily shortly after, knowing Shaw is home and safe.

 

In the morning, with no directions from the Machine yet, Root tags along with Shaw to the library. She figures she’s owed some extra time with her after seeing so little of her yesterday.

Something’s a little… _off_ with Shaw though.

“You’re planning something,” Root says as they’re waiting at a crosswalk.

“Am I?” Shaw replies. To most people her expression would look flat, neutral. Root’s not most people.

“I want in on it,” Root demands.

Shaw’s expression doesn’t change a bit. “In on what?”

Root _humphs_ and pouts but doesn’t push any further. They walk the rest of the way to the library in comfortable silence

 

They arrive at the library a few minutes later, finding Harold at his workstation, staring at a monitor.

“New number?” Shaw asks.

“I’m not sure. I received a rather strange email from a Miss E. Thornhill,” he pauses at the name, raising his eyebrows and looking between the two of them, “containing only this file.” He motions toward the gibberish displayed on screen – obviously some sort of encoded information.

Root squints at it, trying to make sense of it and waiting for the Machine to elaborate.

The first thing she hears, though, is from her left ear: a soft huff that’s almost a laugh from Shaw. “Did you try to open it with a video player?” she asks.

She’s about to ask what Shaw knows when Harold follows her suggestion, pulling her attention back to the monitor. On screen is surveillance footage of an office – orderly and spartan, but a touch of class. Government maybe?

She’s not wondering long. The door opens, and a familiar face walks in.

“Control!”

Almost at the same time, Harold exclaims “Oh my.”

Shaw, however, doesn’t react. No surprise, or even her usual dislike of the woman. Root glances at her and sees her subtle expression from before has grown into an actual smile. She quickly looks back at the video, but still doesn’t see anything remarkable.

Control sets a briefcase down, sits down at her desk, pulls open a drawer and – _something_ goes flying. She jerks back, pushing her chair away from the desk and flailing wildly. She grabs at another drawer, and another _something_ flies out. She reaches into the drawer, stops, jerkily tossing an object onto the desk before pulling a pistol from the drawer. The video ends there, freezing on the last frame to clearly show the coiled black and yellow rubber snake she threw on the desk.

Harold, apparently not believing what he just saw, replays the video. Root can’t hold in a snort when what she now recognizes as a long, green rubber snake flies up into Control’s face.

Suddenly, Root remembers the Amazon box that arrived a few days ago that Shaw snatched away before she could see what was in it. She turns to Shaw, finding her standing there with her hands in her pockets and a carefully schooled neutral expression on her face.

Lightning fast, Shaw pulls out her right hand and flicks her wrist. A coiled bright orange rubber snake, about the size of her palm, flies over Harold’s shoulder and lands on his keyboard.  Her hand is back in her pocket before it even lands.

He startles, and lets out a small _eep_ , then spins his chair around to face them.

“Hilarious, Miss Shaw,” he says blandly.

“Me? I didn’t do anything.”

“I assume you’re responsible for _this?_ ” he says pointing to the monitor once again frozen on Control drawing a gun on a toy snake.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she lies, now openly smirking.

The interrogation is cut short by a buzz from Root’s phone. The Machine, finally speaking up, tells Root what she sent her.

“Gotta go, Harry. Places to be, people to… well, save.” She half turns back to the door, but then, as if an afterthought, spins back and loops her arm through Shaw’s. “And I’m borrowing my wife, if you don’t mind.”

She swiftly guides Shaw out. But stops as soon as they're far enough down the hall to not be overheard, and be sure Harold won’t try to follow them. Once clear, she stops, turns to Shaw, pushes her up against a bookshelf and kisses her hard.

It doesn’t last too long, but they’re both panting when they break apart. “What was that for?”

“Thanks,” Root says softly.

“Pfft, I just did that to see the look on her face,” Shaw says, smiling at Root. She kisses Root this time, but that doesn’t last long either.

Root gently pushes her back, an apologetic expression on her face. “We should go. Harold’s gonna be coming this way soon. And there’s going to be an actual number soon, which we should be able to wrap up in time for lunch if we get going.”

Shaw gestures for her to lead the way. Which Root does, though not before taking hold of Shaw’s hand.

“You know, I hid some of them pretty well. She’s gonna be finding those for weeks.”

“That’s so sweet, Sameen.”


End file.
